


The Other Side

by DarkInuFan



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Belleteyn, Just an excuse for Jaskier and Valdo to have that conversation from The Greatest Showman, Multi, Song Lyrics, also Priscilla wanted in on the fun, and I couldn’t tell her no without good reason, bardic festivals, so she got her own song, when bards get together, you know the one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkInuFan/pseuds/DarkInuFan
Summary: Slamming the cups down, Jaskier poured the next round, staring through Valdo’s eyes and into his soul. “Right here, right now, I’ll put the offer out. I don’t want to chase you down.” And yet, he had. Again. “I know you see it. You run with me and I can cut you free from the drudgery and walls they keep you in.”-or-Jaskier finally drags a reluctant Geralt (and a not near as reluctant Ciri) to his annual Belleteyn celebration and meets up with his bards to play a set or two.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> And here it is, my inevitable song fic for the Witcher. Why? Because my favorite character is a gottdamn bard, that’s why. If I get a good enough response, I may or may not give this one or two more chapters- depending on what other songs I want our favorite bard to sing. I have a list I’m working on, depending on if I want to shove the song here, or in another fic. Because nearly all of them are becoming songfics on one level or other. 
> 
> Warning: there will be canonical-level drinking and historical beverages. Aka Ciri gets a low-alcohol beer because you don’t drink the water in fantasy towns without risking food poisoning. Plus she’s like 16, which is legal in some countries for beer.

“Ah, good. Here we are!” Jaskier pushed open the door of a particularly upscale tavern, holding it open for Priscilla, Ciri, and finally Geralt to enter with a questioning brow and a tug on his hood to hide his face further. The party tucked themselves into the table in the corner, far enough back to observe the minstrel playing a bowed instrument- a vielle, the others emphatically corrected Geralt later- and singing. 

Stopping by the bar, Jaskier opened a tab, starting with ales for the adults and a smallbeer for Ciri, as well as dinners all around. Wincing, he also pulled out a few gold coins and flashed them at the keep, asking what kind of stronger brews he kept under the counter and if he could purchase a bottle and two shot glasses. He would need the liquid courage for the upcoming task. 

The coins were quickly replaced by a dusty bottle of whiskey after an assessing gaze, the label’s ink mostly rubbed off, but the bottle was sealed, that was the important part. The bottle was quickly tucked into his bag and out of sight for later, along with two small metal cups that had seen better days.

Taking the remaining seat at the table, he shared a look with Priscilla and both rolled their eyes. “Valdo’s as… refined as usual.” Priscilla spoke, watching the minstrel out of the corner of her eye. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I want it to sound nice this year and he knows how to blend in.”

Priscilla snorted. “ _ Blending in _ is all he’s ever been good for.”

“I think he’s quite good.” Ciri piped up, attempting to snag Geralt’s ale before the witcher put the smallbeer firmly within her reach instead. “He sounds like the bards that played at other courts. Not Grandmother’s, of course… or Skellege’s.”

“He’s boring.” Jaskier huffed, a small smile twitching the corner of his mouth, “is what I think you mean.”

“Marx.” Geralt rumbled, gaining the table’s attention. “Valdo Marx. Didn’t you say you wanted him eviscerated that time?” Priscilla, caught off guard with the question, inhaled her beer and started coughing and laughing at the same time- completely immodest for a lady, but she had given up all veneer of one years ago- drawing curious glances from the surrounding tables.

“It was apoplexy, Geralt, but the results would be the same- the horse’s arse.” 

“And yet…” Geralt’s brows furrowed, “You’re asking him… for help?” Which set off another round of laughter from Priscilla and a reluctant nod from Jaskier.

“Honestly, it’s no different than you pushing Lambert off the keep’s walls last winter.”

“I didn’t push him. He slipped. I tried to help him.” 

“You definitely helped him right over the side!” Ciri chirped, nodding her thanks as dinners were brought out and passed around. Seeing Priscilla’s concerned look, the teen shrugged. “He was fine. A little scratched from rolling down the mountainside, but he was mostly healed by the time he got back inside to tackle Geralt into the fireplace.” Her concern only grew with Geralt’s grunt of affirmation and Jaskier’s exasperated look. 

Priscilla’s look of ‘what the hell have you dragged me into’ was totally worth it.

* * *

It took some time, wheedling and a lot of, erm,  _ massages _ , but Jaskier finally convinced Geralt that attending the Kinspond Belleteyn Festival was worth the risk. It had been a couple years since there had been a confirmed sighting of the princess of Cintra, so Nilfgaard’s manhunt had slowed down considerably. At nearly a foot taller, cropped hair dyed brown and wearing one of Jaskier’s old dublets, nobody would look twice at a bard’s apprentice, even as an ethereally pretty boy. The psaltery case strapped to their back only helped to sell the story.

“Let’s stop here for the night.” Jaskier suggested, gesturing at a tavern with a placard with a black unicorn hanging over the door. 

“They already have a bard.” Geralt shook his head, wanting to move on. They needed coin, and, as much as he would never admit out loud, Jaskier’s busking brought in quite a bit of their income between contracts. 

“Oh, yes, I can hear that.” Jaskier nodded with a grin. “And I happen to know those lovely mellifluous tones quite well.” Not giving Geralt a choice, Jaskier dismounted his white gelding and passed him off to the stablehand attached to the tavern with a generous tip. “Coming, dear Fee-Ri?” 

Ciri, for all that she rolled her eyes dramatically, dismounted her own black mare eagerly. “I wish you would stop calling me that.”

“I will.” Jaskier agreed, holding the door for his apprentice, “once you figure out what you would like your stage name to be.” 

Inside, Jaskier chose a seat closer to the stage than Geralt would have preferred and sat down. They could always move once the performance was over. He knew that he had gotten the trobairitz’ attention when she gave him a wide smile. “Ah, it looks like I have a friend here tonight! The infamous  _ Jaskier _ has come out of hiding and has deigned to bless us mere mortals with his presence. Come, Jaskier, how about one for old time’s sake?” She asked with a taunting smirk, strumming a familiar opening to them both.

“How am I to say no, my beautiful Callonetta, my dear little duckling.” He played up the schmooze, sauntering up to the bard and circling her like a predator, stroking her cheek with the back of a hand while he starts to sing: “Oh, where’ve you been, young Peggy? Peggy, where’ve you been?”

“In the garden.” Priscella shrugged playfully, “among the gili flowers.”

“You’ve not been there, you’re lying Peggy.” Jaskier rolled his eyes, “You’ve not been there- You’re lying. Your mother saw you in Jamie’s arms.”

Taking her hand off her lute for a moment, she gave Jaskier’s bicep an assessing squeeze and nodded to herself. “My mother saw me in Jamie’s arms- She’ll see me there again! For I will lie in Jamie’s arms when his grave has grown green!”

Jaskier shook his head and struck a pose like a mother scolding her daughter. “Your Jamie is a rogue, Peggy! Your Jamie is a rogue- for trysting out our daughter, and her  _ so very young. _ ” Jaskier squished her cheeks playfully, which Priscella immediately swatted away. 

“Lay not the blame on Jamie, Father!” She really was channeling her teenage self, here. “The blame all lies on me! For I have slept in Jamie’s arms when your eyes could not see.”

“And she’s to her bower gone. He’s waiting there for her.” they harmonized, faces close enough their foreheads were nearly touching before Priscilla continued. “She says: I’m glad to see you, Jamie, but we cannot meet no more.”

Jaskier nodded, swiping an ale mug from the table where her hat was sitting to collect coin. “She takes the wine glass in her hand, and pours the clean wine out.” They harmonized again before Jaskier took a drink from the mug and set it back down. “She says: I’m glad to see you Jamie, but we cannot meet no more.”

“She takes him in her arms, and gives him kisses five.” He does wrap his arms around her, but instead of kissing her, he gave five sharp raps to her lute’s body. “She says: I’m glad to see you Jamie, but we cannot meet no more.”

Jaskier, acting like he has an idea, gestured wildly. “Your father has a bonny clock- divides the night and day- and at the middle strike of night, in the woods you can find me.” 

Priscilla grins and nods in agreement and they bend their heads together to form a plan. “When bells have rung and mass is sung, and men are bound for bed, it's up she kilts her green dress and rises from her bed.”

Jaskier nods in agreement, confirming the plan. “When bells have rung and mass is sung, about the hour of two? It’s up jumps her father with ‘Peggy is away! Go saddle me the black, the black, go saddle me the grey!’”

“But before they come to the top of the hill, Peggy is away!” they sung together, Jaskier swinging the blonde trobairitz around, startling a laugh from her and ending the song, much to the amusement of the tavern’s patrons.

“Now, fine ladies and gentlemen, I promise we will be back shortly! But first, some ale for my poor throat!” She called out, hefting her mug, glad that Jaskier hadn’t quaffed it all like he had been prone to doing in the past. “Jules, it’s wonderful to see you again. That time of year already?”

“You too, Prissy. I’m glad your throat’s recovering.” They air kissed each other’s cheeks as Jaskier led her to a corner table while waving Ciri to follow. Geralt had come in some time during the song and was frowning at the both of them in confusion. They seemed… close.

“Melitele, barely! Too long without drink and you can paint me green and call me a toad!” They both laughed at that, Jaskier sliding over his own ale for her to sip at.

“Well, then, drink up, dearest Toad, for I know how that goes. I may well be a monk during the winter months anymore.” 

Priscilla gave a weary nod before looking at their tablemates, her eyes lighting up. “Oh-ho, are these who I think they are?”

“Mm-hm. Priscilla, meet Riannon.”

“Oh! I’ve heard so much about you! I’m so glad your grandmother is finally letting you travel around with Master Jaskier. It must be exciting to be out seeing the world.” Of course she knew who the young apprentice in Jaskier’s old doublet really was. A doublet that she had actually gifted Jaskier on his first-show’s anniversary nearly a decade before. Seeing the lost princess alive nearly brought her to tears. She had been there when Jaskier had gotten the news of Cintra’s fall. “And then you must be Riannon’s father and Jules’ muse, Geralt. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” She gave him a wide grin, not showing an ounce of hesitation or fear offering her hand for a shake. 

“Geralt, Fee-Ri, meet Priscilla- stage name Callonetta- one of my best students at Oxenfurt and close friend.”

“A pleasure.” When Geralt failed to take the bard’s offered hand, Ciri did, keeping her voice low. “It’s great to meet one of Jack-Jaskier’s friends.”

“I’m sure it is. Not many of us around can say that indeed.” Geralt didn’t move except his eyes bouncing between the two bards and that little furrow he got on his forehead when he was on the hunt. The two were close, practically sitting in each other’s laps as they talked, casually touching in a way that spoke intimacy and an amenable parting afterward. “Now, you didn’t answer my question earlier: is it that time of year again?” 

“Of course it is, my darling duckling. Did you think our meeting tonight was a mere coincidence?”

“I had hoped so.” Priscilla purred back, her hand resting over Jaskiers on his heart. “It has been a long time since we had some real  _ fun  _ together.” Jaskier laughed and kissed her cheek, patting her hand with his free one.

“Maybe next time. So, are you in?”

“Do you even have to ask?” 

“Good.” Jaskier beamed. “I wanted to show off all my best sides, especially since I’ll have my dear audience with me this time.”

“Oh, Riannon’s not going on stage with you?” She asked, pulling back and cradling her ale with a serious look.

Geralt shook his head. “Too much of a risk. I wanted to keep C-Fi-her at the ke-home until things quieted down completely.”

“Mmm, yeah. That’s not going to happen any time soon, dearest Muse. Sometimes living is worth a little risk. Do you think I wear this without risks?” She gestured to the bi-colored tights, short pantaloons and chemise that was her performance attire. Frankly, he had seen whores in brothels wear more appropriate clothing, but that was the thing he had come to learn about entertainers: they wore what they wanted to, as long as it was bright and eye catching. 

“I would rather her safe.” Priscilla studied Geralt’s face before giving a nod and a small nostalgic smile. 

“I wish that I would have had someone that cared for me as you care for her at her age.” turning back to Jaskier, she downed the last of his drink. “So… the usual contract?”

“Of course. That is, if you don’t mind a Witcher and an apprentice tagging along?”

“Why would I? I never minded your antics, I don’t see how someone disciplined as a Witcher could be any worse than you.” Priscilla stood up and with a wry grin offered her hand to help her mentor off his seat. Rolling his eyes, Jaskier let her pull him up. “Old Man.” 

“Hush, Duckling.” Wriggling his mug toward the barkeep, he gestured for two more ales to be brought over while he pulled out his lute and gave it a cursory tuning. “Now, let me show you how to  _ really  _ enchant a crowd.” 

They played late into the night, sometimes taking turns, sometimes blending their voices into something nearly ethereal. Afterwards, Priscilla didn’t lead them to a room in the inn like Geralt expected, but an encampment just hidden in the forest beyond town. A wagon, half dozen horses and a handful of tents surrounded a smouldering fire. While the rest of the camp was apparently asleep, an older man with a drum waved them over in welcome and without question. He offered them a tent for the night and bowls of leftover stew. When Ciri started to fade and Geralt excused them for bed, he was pleasantly surprised when Jaskier followed. 

A raised brow earned a scoff and Jaskier shook his head while stripping his doublet. “I will no more her, than you Cirilla. She is a dear friend and one of the brightest lights to grace this continent. Flattering, but not meant to be.”

* * *

Finishing his set, Valdo took his bows to polite applause and secured his instrument, scoffing at the coins found within his case, but taking them nonetheless. What poor bards, that have to take coins flung at them instead of being properly paid by the local lord or by selling tickets. What uncouth individuals, pandering to the masses instead of the nobility whose inborn rights should be lauded.

And speaking of uncouth…

“Feral alleycat.”

“Caged bird.” Valdo sat down across from Jaskier, ignoring the rest of the table except to give Priscilla a curt nod. 

“I see that you’re still playing vagabond, Julian.”

“And yet, here you are, playing the same. Did Cidaris finally realize that they were supporting a mockingbird instead of a nightingale?”

“At least its steady pay. Tell me, Julian, do you still whore yourself out in back alleys between sets to make a few extra coins? Do you still yowl like a cat in heat for a good prick or hole to fill?” Jaskier, already having opened the bottle of spirits and was pouring shots, held up a hand to stay Geralt’s sword.

“Variety, they do say,  _ is  _ the spice of life. But then again, you do know fully well how well I  _ yowl _ for it. Prick.” Snorting, Valdo took the shot Jaskier slid over and they both downed it in unison. 

Slamming the cups down, Jaskier poured the next round, staring through Valdo’s eyes and into his soul. “Right here, right now, I’ll put the offer out. I don’t want to chase you down.” _ And yet, he had. Again. _ “I know you see it. You run with me and I can cut you free from the drudgery and walls they keep you in.” He eyed the fine but drab-colored doublet, pinching the silks between his fingers like a lover. “So trade that typical for something colorful-” Valdo scoffed, seeing Jaskier’s cherry red and bright blue ensemble. “-And if it’s crazy,  _ live a little crazy. _ You can play it sensible, a King of conventional, or you can risk it all and  _ see… _ ” 

It was the same old argument, and they both took shots, Jaskier for courage and Valdo in resignation. Jaskier had always had a gilded tongue, even when they were sharing a room in Oxenfurt. “Don’t you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play?”  _ Gods, always.  _ “Cause I got what you need, so come with me and take a ride. I’ll take you to the other side. Cause you can do like you do, or you can do like me. Stay in that cage, or finally take that key. Oh! Damn! Suddenly, you’re free to fly.” Jaskier held his hand out with wide eyes, seeing Valdo falter. “I’ll take you to the other side.”

Heaving a great sigh and taking his next shot, Valdo slipped his hand into Jaskier’s. “Okay, my friend, you want to cut me in.” he pressed his thumb to the back of Jaskier’s hand before letting go. “Well, I hate to tell you, but it just won’t happen. So thanks, but no, I think I’m good to go. Cause I quite enjoy the life you say I’m trapped in.” Smoothing the invisible wrinkles Jaskier had left on his doublet, Valdo leaned back. “Now, I admire you, and the whole thing you do.” he gestured to Jaskier as a whole, and then his companions and the crowded tavern. “You’re onto something,  _ really _ it’s something. But I live among the swells, and we don’t pick up spare coins. I’ll have to leave that up to you. Don’t you know that I’m okay with this uptown part I get to play? Cause I got what I need and I don’t want to take the ride.”  _ I’ve always been jealous of you.  _ “I don’t need to see the other side.”  _ I’m afraid. _

“So go and do like you do, and I’m good to do like me.”  _ Please take me with you.  _ “Ain’t in a cage, so I don’t need to take the key.”  _ My cage doesn’t have a lock, so how could it have a key? _ “Oh, damn! Can’t you see I’m doing fine?”  _ Can’t you see me crying?  _ “I don’t need to see the other side.”

As Valdo leaned back, Jaskier leaned forward with a small frown, his arms crossed on the table. “Now, is this really how you like to spend your days? Whiskey and misery, parties and plays?” His finger traced the rim of his glass, contemplating if the bottle was a good idea or not, this time.

Valdo took his own glass, staring into the depths as he swirled it around to catch the candlelight. “If I were mixed up with you,”  _ again _ “I’d be the talk of the town. Disgraced and disowned,”  _ like that was new.  _ “Another one of the clowns.” He downed the shot, holding out his glass for another pour. 

Sad, Jaskier poured them both another shot. “But you would finally live a little, maybe finally laugh a little?”  _ Gods, he missed his laugh.  _ “Just let me give you the freedom to dream and it’ll wake you up, cure your aching.”  _ or make it worse. _ “Take your walls and start ‘em breaking. Now that’s a deal that seems worth taking, but I guess I’ll leave that up to you…”

They both fell silent, contemplating their glasses. Jaskier took a sip of his, savoring the smoky flavor and mourning that he couldn’t enjoy this rare treat properly. 

“Well…” Valdo spoke more to his shot glass than to Jaskier. “It’s intriguing, but to go would cost me greatly.” the traveling expenses, the clothes,  _ his reputation. _ “So what part of the show would I be taking?”

“Fair enough,” Jaskier nodded. “You’d want a piece of all the action. I’ll give you seven, we could shake and make it happen.” He held his hand out to shake.

Valdo shook his head, amused, a little quirk to his lips. “I wasn’t born this morning, Julian, eighteen would be just fine.” Jaskier grimaced at the number, making Valdo grin. “Why not just go ahead and ask for coppers on the coin?” His voice took on his mocking, superior lilt. “Fifteen.” He was being generous.

“I’d do eight?” Jaskier’s tone was questioning and hopeful

Valdo rolled his eyes. “Twelve.”

“...Maybe nine?”

They stared at each other, both suddenly back in Oxenfurt, debating the set for their performance finals. “Ten.” they finally agreed. They sealed the deal with a shot, Valdo grabbing the bottle and sloshing their next one this time.

“Don’t you wanna get away to a whole new part you’re gonna play.” Valdo mocked Jaskier’s tenor, taking his shot, Jaskier following with a glower.  _ He did not sound like that. _ “Cause I got what you need.  _ So come with me and take the ride.” _ And now it was a contest, they both took another shot with the air of old competition. “ _ To the other side!” _ Valdo toasted, tossing his back. Ok, maybe they were getting a  _ little  _ drunk.

“So, if you do like I do…” Jaskier gestured to himself, making Valdo scoff.

“So if you do like me.” he corrected. “Forget the cage, cause we know how to make the key. Oh, damn! Suddenly we’re free to fly.” A slightly hysterical laugh burst from his lips. “We’re going to the other side.” When most of the next shot landed on his doublet instead of down his throat, Geralt decided to intervene and took the bottle, getting pouts from all _ three _ bards present,  _ and  _ his daughter. “So, if you do like I do, if you do like me, if we do, we’re going to the other side!”

Jaskier nodded, holding his hand out, finally getting a shake out of Valdo. “We’re going to the other side.” 

* * *

The two bards didn’t last long after that, though Jaskier was holding his liquor a sight better than the stumbling man Geralt was forced to practically carry back to the caravan. Surprisingly, the man didn’t complain about where they were going, only started to whine when Geralt helped him into the back of the traveling wagon, insisting that he deserved his own carriage. Geralt rolled his eyes at that. He should be glad they were shoving him in the wagon, not under it, to sleep off their… conversation. 

Turning, he realized that the girl- Priscilla?- had helped Jaskier into their tent and had snagged the half-full whiskey bottle from Ciri’s sticky fingers. “Want some?” She asked, planting herself down between a log and the low-burning fire. The older man with the drum- a druid, he had found, and the oldest of Priscilla’s traveling party- had already pulled out tin cups and handed them over for his own share. 

Geralt grunted, taking the peace offering as it was meant for, and chose his own spot by the fire. “So, what was that?” He asked roughly, gesturing back toward town with his cup.

“The usual, really.” Priscilla shrugged. “They’ve had the same argument for as long as I’ve known them. They were both professors at Oxenfurt when I graduated, and I heard that they graduated in the same class as well.” Geralt had to blink at that. The man that he had rolled into the back of the wagon was firmly in the midst of gaining his middle-age spread and had thinning, pale hair that hung limp on his head. The only thing that held any real life was the mustache that he had waxed and curled to within an inch of its life. 

“I… see.” No, he didn’t. Not really.  _ Priscilla _ looked like his younger sister, not a girl young enough to be his daughter. He kept forgetting that Jaskier hadn’t been in his 20’s for a  _ long _ time. “And the numbers?”

Priscilla let loose a free laugh, unafraid of waking up the rest of the party. “The number of songs Valdo gets to pick for our set. You see, we each get about ten songs to pick each year, though Valdo always tries for more and Jules less. It keeps things interesting, especially for such a long set list. We’re contracted to entertain our own fire for a good few hours, after all, not just two or three new songs on a stage like the usual competitions.”

“Fires?” Geralt’s brow is furrowed, deciding if he wanted to stoke this one for the human’s sake, or let it die down for the night.

“Mm-hmm,” Priscilla nodded enthusiastically, sipping at her drink. “Belleteyn. Jules usually does Midinváerne and Midaëte rites too, but he always asks for help during Belleteyn.” 

Mournful howling from the tallest tower of the keep from two voices, Jaskier and Ciri disappearing with an oil lamp and a basket of food, enough to last the longest night of the year. Showing up for lunch the next day, bruising under their eyes and sunken, haunted expressions, eating as if it was their last meal on earth. 

Midsummer, where Jaskier always has one excuse or another to disappear for a day or two, which was always fine, since he spent the day charging his weapons with the sun’s blessings. He alway came back tired, but practically glowing from energy like from after the best performances. He always assumed that Jaskier had found a particularly lovely  _ pantry _ after such days. 

_ Now _ , he wasn’t so sure. 

Geralt nodded in understanding.  _ He didn’t understand.  _ And took a sip of his whisky. It really was a good bottle. 

“...I’m surprised that I’ve never seen you jump the fires before. Witcher like you, should get all the luck he can get.” 

Geralt nodded. “Busy.”  _ He didn’t know. _ “Never could make it.”  _ But would he have gone if he  _ had _ known? _

“Well, it’s good that you can this year. The others will be happy to see you too.” quaffing the last of her drink, Priscilla stood up and kissed the druid on the cheek, then went over and did the same to Geralt, much to his surprise. “Good night, Muse.” He nodded back, raising his cup.  _ Others? _

**Author's Note:**

> Valdo’s song is The Other Side from the movie The Greatest Showman  
> Priscilla’s song is Peggy And Jamie by Clandestine


End file.
